self portrait on a tuesday

my eyes, your eyes-
they are everything that i despise.

we dance, marching back and forth in unimaginable patterns.
the lies are what lie thick and smooth.

we eat till our hearts pop and then start it over again.

but now i will walk away; you will know me another day.

this is a faded portrait for some days i cannot be whole.
today we will not dance, you may not romance me,

i said we cannot dance. do

not make me repeat it.

will you disown me?

or seduce my hands and features with paint,
running the paintbrush down my hair when you are done.

i wish to play artist too.

paint my face,
paint my face as it should be seen.
a divine Versailles, use a heavy hand.

(whatever can be conceived) the reveal and the diagnoses,
the mold and the dinner party,

these things are my work.

i cannot be stereotyped for i am my own.

what proof, what case can you make
to provide or define reasons for keeping a secret
which holds no reason.

call me your
goddess of all seasons,
and you may take me in four poses...

wet your brush, i will strike timely.